


Close Quarters

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 13:04:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15841869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Getting carried away with their new swimsuits.





	Close Quarters

**Author's Note:**

> based off a cute af piece of art i saw mmmmhmhm idk where it went tho my bad

Brighid has never needed swimwear for overtly obvious reasons, but the strange forces of the universe apparently decided otherwise. 

No, not the universe, but rather that strange… Nopon Archsage, an oddity far too easy to accept as just a weird _thing_ that simply is, was, and always will be. Thinking too hard also only results in a headache, so. Better to just roll along with whatever he tosses at them, whether it be a horribly frustrating battle simulation or an otherworldly visitor or _swimsuits_. 

She doesn’t wear swimsuits. Fire Blades don’t swim. That’s just dumb. 

“I rather like it,” Mòrag says, staring long and hard when Brighid holds it up for her to see, hand to her chin in thought and everything.

… Of course she likes it. Brighid sighs. 

“The last time I wore something like this was when I lived in Gormott,” Mòrag continues. She’s holding her own swimsuit, slung over her arm. “There are no opportunities to swim in Mor Ardain, as you would know.”

“Unless you felt like taking a dip in the Titan’s acidic ether.” 

“Yes, that.” 

“ _It’s too long!_ ” Zeke is yelling at the Nopon Archsage, shaking his swim trunks in his face. “How am I supposed to show off the Zekenator’s glorious glutes if the damn thing is cover them all up?! I spent years toning this body to physical perfection, I’ll have you know!” 

“Tora, are you actually going to wear that…?”

“Masterpon knows not the meaning of shame. Apologies to Pyra, but collateral damage of dignity all around is inevitable. Poppi is looking forward to trying out new flotation device!”

“That sundress suits you well, my Lady. It’s very fashionable.”

“Aw. Thanks, Dromarch. Too bad you didn’t get a matching one.” 

“Ah, such a disappointment indeed…”

“Oh. Masterpon’s round body look even rounder in strange tacky shirt.”

“Screw it! I’ll cut ‘em shorter myself! Never trust a Nopon to get a man’s job done!” 

“Wait! Prince! Don’t use the Purple Lightning Dreamsmasher for _that—!_ ” 

Mòrag nods to one of the changing booths that the Nopon Archsage had set up near the edge of the platform. They slip away without anyone noticing, as everyone else is now enraptured by the sight of Zeke attempting to slice his new trunks apart with his sword, and cram into the booth together without even thinking.

There’s barely enough room for both of them. Brighid considers all their options as Mòrag fiddles around with her swimsuit, apparently lost in thought already.

She could wear it. She could not wear it. She could turn her nose up at all this ridiculousness and drag Mòrag with her back through the portal and to Uraya. 

Or she could play along. 

Because it sure looks like Mòrag is. She’s already beginning the tedious ritual of removing all her armor pieces and uniform. 

“Lady Mòrag,” she says incredulously.

“It wouldn’t do for us to be the only ones sitting the festivities out, now would it?” 

“Is that what you’re calling it?” 

“I’ll carry you on my shoulders. You won’t even need to touch the water.” 

That’s… tempting. But also very impractical for a variety of reasons.

“The Land of Challenge doesn’t abide by Alrest’s rules,” she mildly says, still casually stripping down. “We can afford to loosen up a bit here.” 

“You’re just looking for an excuse to swim, aren’t you?” 

Mòrag pauses, already down to her greaves. Ah, Brighid, always so keen. She always sees right through her. But, Mòrag stands by what she had said, and she resolutely casts aside the last of her clothes and pulls the swimsuit on. 

Just for the final touch, she releases her hair from its bindings and allows the strands to fall free against her shoulders and upper back. Brighid slowly takes a deep breath, looking her up and down without moving her head. Her gaze lingers too long around her waist but Mòrag likely can’t tell where exactly her stare is aimed at.

“Well…?”

Brighid puts her own swimsuit aside to place her hands over Mòrag’s collarbone. Her skin is rather pale from constantly being hidden from the sun beneath the layers of her uniform, but— her hands move past the straps of the swimsuit and to her shoulders, where she can properly feel her muscles. Nice. She swears Mòrag straightens her back just a little more at Brighid’s inspecting touches.

She’s just… beautiful. Brighid can’t help herself. Internally, she scolds herself so having so little restraint.

“It doesn’t suit you at all, Lady Mòrag.”

“What—?” 

“Hmph,” she softly huffs, palming her upper arms. “Would you really say _this_ is befitting of the Flamebringer?” 

“The feel of it is good…” 

“I’ll help you pick out something more fashionable from one of the boutiques in Fonsa Myma.” 

Mòrag has no reason to be defensive, because it was the Nopon Archsage who provided these outfits, but she seems slightly put off nonetheless. Brighid frowns disapprovingly at the sheer material covering her midriff (why cover up _that_ part?), and that’s when Mòrag gently pushes her back. 

“What of yours, then? If my taste in clothes is so questionable?”

A chuckle loosens her throat and Brighid fondly shakes her head. Leave it to Mòrag to take such a comment so personally. She considers her options again, between going along with it or stubbornly refusing to participate in… whatever this is, but it’s only fair if Mòrag takes it all in stride so easily. Right? Oh, how Brighid admires that incredible pride of hers. 

She takes Mòrag’s wrists and guides her hands to the back of her neck and to the clasp of her neckpiece. Mòrag breathes out in relief, a wordless exchange of confirmation passing between them in the span of a blink, and she sets right to helping Brighid undress. 

It doesn’t take long, obviously, in comparison to the grand task that was Mòrag removing her uniform. Their clothes hang neatly upon pegs on one of the walls in the booth, and the armor pieces put aside on the bench.

Of course Mòrag has seen all of Brighid plenty of times before, but her breath still catches in her throat and she self-consciously looks down to the floor when she kneels, holding the swimsuit out for Brighid to delicately put her feet through first. 

Brighid’s hands join hers as she pulls the suit higher, and she puts her arms through herself, and all that’s left is the zipper left wide open. Mòrag is still kneeling. 

For these things, words are unnecessary for the most part. Brighid threads her fingers through Mòrag’s hair, their world limited to this cramped booth just for the moment. 

Mòrag must be in an _exceptionally_ playful mood today. Without any sort of prompting, she takes the zipper between her teeth and begins to pull it up, so terribly slowly, her nose brushing against Brighid’s midriff. She can feel Brighid slightly tensing beneath the feathery touch. 

Restraint is on the cusp of being completely lost. Brighid stifles a chuckle and holds Mòrag’s shoulders, and Mòrag holds her waist in return, moving to kneel on just one knee as she continues her long journey of bringing that zipper to a close. 

Over her breasts, Mòrag pauses with the zipper still between her teeth. She _pushes_ her face forward, and Brighid laughs. 

“I like the color,” she murmurs against Brighid, voice muffled. “It’s pleasing to the eye.”

“What about this garish rose?” 

“An appropriate accent.” 

“Don’t you have _any_ criticisms?” 

To that, Mòrag simply places a hand over that rose. Brighid softly gasps at the sudden contact, but it’s not unwelcome, particularly when Mòrag gently squeezes and rubs while still nuzzling against that bit of space between her breasts. 

Is this what she meant by loosening up? Surely not. 

So no criticisms, then. Alright. 

Eventually she straightens up, eyes hazy and her breath warm. Brighid swiftly catches her lips with her own, finally deciding that enjoying the moment isn’t the worst criminal offense possible. Forget about the swimming, for now. She’d just like to feel Mòrag’s body without her usual armor pieces getting in the way. 

Somehow, she’d ended up sitting on the small bench with Mòrag upon her lap. She cups Mòrag’s jaw to further deepen their uninterrupted kiss, and Mòrag had rediscovered the zipper and is now beginning to tug it back down—

“We really should reconvene with the others,” Brighid manages to breathe out, clutching Mòrag’s waist and still lamenting that unnecessary layer of material between the top and bottom parts of her swimsuit. 

“We should,” Mòrag agrees, though she’s still hungrily kissing her. 

Outside, a million peds away from the changing booth, Zeke probably had to purchase a new swimsuit after completely decimating his first pair. Mythra would no doubt be sore about that. They all work damn hard for those Noponstones. 

But working hard should have its rewards, of course, and this is… just one of their own. That’s what they’ll call it, in private just between them. Mòrag reluctantly pulls the zipper of Brighid’s swimsuit back up, though she leaves her Core Crystal uncovered, and kisses her one more time. 

They can always pick up where they left off later. And Brighid can pick out something even better for Mòrag to wear, though now that she looks at it again as they stand up, she doesn’t mind it as much as she had before. 

Mòrag clears her throat, straightening out her swimsuit and her hair. “How do I look, then?” 

“I still think it could be better,” she teases, pleased when Mòrag gives her _a look_ before preparing to step outside.


End file.
